Lead-in
by TheWhisperedLie
Summary: Perhaps it was the expression on her face that shook him to the core, or the twinkle of excitement that entered her crystalline irises as she prepared to offer up her voice- a sacrifice, to his eager ears. More than either of those, though, perhaps it was the subtle, ever so subtle rise of her bosom as she filled her lungs that caused his breath to catch and his fingers to slip.


The emanation of pure grace from every pore of her body never failed to captivate him. Indeed, Erik found himself completely riveted by even the simplest of Christine's movements throughout his home. Her soft tread upon the Persian carpets, her form nestled into the settee, her head tilted up at him in silent inquiry all served to fascinate him. She drove him to distraction without so much as a flutter of her eyelash, or a curl of her lip.

Erik was in such a state even as his fingers deftly depressed each key of the piano in its proper turn, drawing forth music, felt-covered hammers striking finely tuned strings at his command. The scrawl of black notes over white paper had no hold on his attention whilst such a delicate creature stood in the bow of the great, black instrument he so proficiently played. Christine's slender hands rested upon its lid as she listened attentively to each of the notes which pervaded the air and assaulted her senses. Her eyes remained blessedly closed as he sought to memorize every aspect of the visage before him.

Erik was pleased to note her perfect posture, though he expected no less. His eyes wandered to her countenance, savoring the creamy hue of her complexion even as he longed to see the sapphire light of her eyes. He gazed upon delicately defined eyebrows, subtly displayed cheek bones, a gently curved jawline that led into her chin. Sweeping back up to the crown of her head, his greedy orbs devoured her golden locks before tracing the line of her straight nose to the pink perfection of her slightly parted lips.

Two flashes of blue appeared in his peripheral vision, and he hastened to avert his gaze, for he knew Christine's eyelids had risen, not unlike the curtains of a stage. Focusing instead on the pages of music spread out before him, he realized why she had unveiled her eyes, and was helpless to prevent a thrill of anticipation that reached his very soul. Her entrance was a mere seven bars away.

Erik could scarce control the muscles of his neck that lifted his head once more to behold his pupil, and what a magnificent sight she was. Christine's eyes, now so clearly revealed to him, were out of focus, so intent was she upon the melodies he played, waiting ever patiently for the select notes that would signify when she ought to breathe, and more importantly where she must commence her contribution to the music. His eyes remained fixed upon her. He did not miss the slight roll of her shoulders as she simultaneously checked her alignment and rid herself of unnecessary tension, nor did he fail to notice the trickling tingles the simple movement sent down his spine. Erik could no more look away from her than he could sprout wings and fly as she further opened her mouth to admit the stream of oxygen she inhaled.

So affected was he, in fact, that the unthinkable occurred. Perhaps it was the rapturous expression on her face that shook him to the core, or the twinkle of excitement that entered her crystalline irises as she prepared to offer up her voice, much like a sacrifice, to his eager ears. More than either of those, though, perhaps it was the subtle, _ever _so subtle rise of her bosom as she filled her lungs that caused his breath to catch, his hands to shake, and his fingers to slip- for slip they did.

Erik was powerless to prevent the chaos that ensued due to the momentary misplacement of his digits on the ivory keys. Perhaps in another circumstance, three misplayed notes could be overlooked, if not entirely forgotten in the context of the whole piece. Another circumstance, however, this was not, and severe repercussions existed for notes thusly misplayed, even if only for their unfortunate placement. Indeed, they were the three notes meant to signal the entrance of the young woman who stood so bewildered in the bow of the piano.

In an instant, before the hellish nightmare unfolded, Erik was able to recognize that if his own horror at this, the most grievous of errors, was any indication of _her_ reaction, she must feel positively _scandalized_. At first, shock had prevented Christine's voice from producing anything more than silence. She had simply clutched at the rim of the piano's lid, eyes wide, mouth agape, completely missing her entrance. Quickly regaining her senses, she shook herself, and then attempted to make up for her _own_ mistake by coming in on the next note.

Perhaps in theory, her action would have made up for both of their previous errors, and they could have continued, and even finished with only a faint memory of their less than ideal beginning. Upon putting it into practice however, she only served to contribute to the catastrophe that was rapidly unfolding. In spite of Christine's noble efforts, the first note to leave her mouth was, much to her embarrassment and her teacher's dismay, nearly a quarter step flat.

Erik groaned at the incredible misfortune that had befallen them due to his lack of focus, and hoped with every ounce of his being that, if they pressed on, the music would fall into place, and they could salvage this lesson after all. He played, his eyes taking in the twists of desperation on the features of Christine's flawless face, willing her to somehow recover even as guilt tore at his conscience. He winced, as it seemed she was losing ever more confidence as she sang, resulting in each note being either heavily flat or unbearably sharp. Had this not been a result of his own stupidity, as it was, he would have been outraged, and scolded her for such unacceptable inaccuracy. Grimacing at a rather natural- sided a-flat, he took pity on her and resorted to playing her part as well as the accompaniment, so she may get back on track and, God willing, pitch.

Erik watched as a pink hue crept into her cheeks, and a shiny film of tears formed over her eyes, products of her embarrassment. His stomach dropped and his heart ached. Oh, he _hated_ to see her cry, and the knowledge that he had, once again, been the cause of her tears was devastating. Still, upon hearing his pupil's voice begin to deliver clean, crisp and blessedly accurate notes, eager hope began to take over. Yes, though Christine was tentative after her mistakes, she maintained the quality of her pitch, even through a particularly high sustained note.

In the grand pause thereafter, he breathed a sigh of relief, and proceeded to play her short lead in, daring to think that, perhaps, the piece could now continue without major disturbances.

Yet again, Christine proved him wrong. Though she delivered perfect pitches, the words her lips formed did not match the words on the sheet of music that Erik squinted to see, as though it were his eyes that erred. But no, his eyes were in working order, and Christine was most assuredly not singing the text on the page. Nor, did it seem, was she singing anything remotely coherent. To him, it sounded as though she was simply combining vowels and consonants to create sounds that she hoped bore some semblance of the Italian she had obviously forgotten. A glance at the darkening hues of her cheeks was enough for him to be confident in his hypothesis.

Making eye contact with her, Erik began to silently shape the words Christine was supposed to be delivering, hoping that his cues would perhaps assist her in collecting her memory. This method proved ineffective, however, as her blush only deepened, and a frown marred her brow. Anger banished embarrassment as it flashed across her blue eyes, as if to remind him that none of this nonsense would have occurred if he had only maintained control of his fingers.

Rather than the guilt he assumed she meant to inspire, though, Erik felt the prick of annoyance at her accusatory glare. Certainly, he had initiated this entire debacle with his fumbled lead-in, and he would gladly shoulder the blame for the botched introduction. He would _not_, however, endure her castigation when she failed to remember simple _words _through no fault of his. Narrowing his eyes to return her scorn, he raised his chin and tilted his head in a silent challenge of her petty irritation. If there was to be a battle of spite, he possessed _quite _the arsenal, and he would emerge the victor.

It seemed, though, that his opponent was not so easily dissuaded. Christine had grudgingly taken his help in recovering the text of the piece, and was now veritably hurling the words at him as though they were insults. In another moment, Erik might have been properly amused by the context of the language in her tone, as the words she flung at him were words of love, and sung in a romantic language no less. Indeed, was it not for the fact that he was already seething, he would have actually laughed at how very silly the whole of the piece sounded when thusly performed.

As it was, however, Erik was having immense difficulty containing his anger. His student was throwing an irrational fit at the expense of her music, and that was the _least_ of his concerns. Had he been paying closer attention, he would have realized that, he, too, was contributing to the misinterpretation of the aria. His fingers were turning what ought to have been flowing lines into abrupt staccatos, in addition to his alteration of the key signature, lending the piece a darker tone that he felt was infinitely more appropriate for their rendition. Christine had seamlessly adjusted to the change of key, the new range more suited to the bitterness with which she laced each syllable.

No, none of this had even registered in Erik's mind, as his heart had taken up the mantle, and was now encased in icy bitterness. The mockery they were making of this once beautiful song of love and joy was reminiscent of the reality that he faced in his every waking moment. It seemed to him that no matter how wondrously he envisioned a scenario with Christine, it rapidly unwound into a farce, and he was left to face her anger and accusations; her words of love thrown as attacks on his ear, sounding wrong and untrue even when given life by her entrancing voice.

Bitter resignation dissolved into vexation and from that into wrath as he added onto their satirical adaptation of love through his accompaniment. He vaguely acknowledged the ache in his fingertips as he mercilessly pounded out notes on his piano, the instrument helpless to avoid its master's malice. He ground his teeth and felt his lips rub against the edges of his mask as they curled into a sneer, leveling his gaze on Christine, who had been meeting his musical aggression pitch for pitch.

It must have been the fire flashing in his eyes that struck her, for he immediately sensed his advantage upon making eye contact. His sneer transformed into an acerbic smirk as her voice began to quaver under the weight of his displeasure, and she was obviously no longer able to match his fury in the light of her newly inspired fear. Erik knew well that she feared the consequences of rousing his ire, and he used such knowledge to his advantage, buffeting her about in the storm of his music as she desperately fought to maintain her part of the piece.

The remainder of the aria was delivered similarly; Erik's accompaniment swirling and beating about Christine's frightened vocal contribution. His resentment permeated the air and mingled with her distress, creating a thickness in the atmosphere within the confines of the room they occupied. Erik hardly heard Christine's final note vanish to nothing as he proceeded to play the last strains of the piece, pulling the last notes out into an anguished progression of chords, the last of which he sustained until it faded into silence of its own accord. The impassioned duet at last at an end, Erik took in ragged breaths, attempting to slow the rapid pace of his heart as it beat within his chest.

Having somewhat calmed himself, regret and self- loathing began to seep into his bones. What had started out as an innocent, productive lesson had spiraled into a maelstrom of emotion, all because of his lack of control over his thoughts. It would be all too easy to blame Christine for inspiring such thoughts in the first place, certainly. He knew though, that doing so would be unfair, for if it were up to her, his thoughts would never stray beyond those of concern for her voice, and he would hold no regard for her other than that a teacher holds for his student. No, he could not force blame upon Christine for his desire for her and his distraction. For that was what it all stemmed from- his distraction. He had been distracted by her beauty, and in his distraction he had ruined her introduction.

Erik could not help raising his eyes to once again behold Christine's entrancing image. He felt a pang of sorrow as he observed her defeated form, no doubt a result of the punishing blows he had rained down upon her in the form of his music. Her arms were securely wrapped around her midsection, almost as though if she were to let go, she would dissolve into pieces before his very eyes. Her shoulders shuddered with every breath she took, and her eyes kept an apprehensive watch over him, as though he may lash out to physically strike her at any moment.

Erik let out a pitiful groan as he collapsed on himself, his elbows digging into his knees as his hands tangled into his hair to tug at it in his grief. As always, he had ruined any chance he had at earning her acceptance, and his poor heart ached to know it. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he closed them to stem their flow, releasing a shuddering breath to hinder the sob that threatened to escape his throat. He would wait and wait, however long it was necessary, and when he looked up she would be gone and this dream- this horrific _nightmare_ would be over at last.

Wait and wait he did, not expecting the soft touch of a small hand on his shoulder. It was so unexpected, in fact, that he found himself leaping out of his seat on the bench and inadvertently depressing several keys on the piano as he backed into it, creating a discordance that made him flinch. He struggled to regain his composure as he watched Christine do much the same, as his reaction had startled her as much as she had initially startled him. His heart rate stabilized and he was left to decide what action to take, as Christine had not abandoned him as he assumed she would.

At a loss, he swallowed drily and turned around to fondly stroke the keys of his piano before shutting the lid over them to prevent further abuse. He turned back around, his fingers fidgeting for want of an occupation as anxiety welled within his chest. He had no words to communicate his regret, and he doubted apologies would be sufficient. He raised his eyes to lock onto hers and searched their depths for an answer to his plight. Unable to help himself, he lifted a shaking hand and ghosted the backs of his long fingers over her cheek in an unspoken apology, holding her eyes in his gaze all the while to keep track of her mental processes.

Erik withdrew his hand, receiving no reaction whatsoever from Christine. She simply looked up at him, an unreadable expression gracing her features, leaving him completely in the dark. She stepped slightly closer to him, and reached out to take hold of the hand that had just traced her features, pressing the cold extremity between her warm palms. He simply stood, basking in the sensation as he waited, ever watchful of her.

Erik watched and kept completely still as she seemed to simply observe his skeletal hand. He battled disgust as he noted how ghastly his appendage looked in comparison to hers- it looked macabre enough on its own. Were he not reveling in the sensation of her hands on his flesh, he would have torn his hand away the second she had captured it. He did not dwell long on these thoughts, though, as she looked back up at him and her blue eyes had him in a trance- like state.

"E, d-sharp, c-sharp," she said simply, a small smile curling her lips.

Bewildered, Erik acutely felt the loss off her hands as she released his, but kept his gaze locked to her retreating form as she fairly glided back to her place in the bow of the piano. It wasn't until she turned back around to face him, the same smile lifting the corners of her mouth, that he realized that she was referring to the three notes of her entrance that he had missed.

Returning Christine's smile, Erik maintained eye contact as he took his seat on the piano bench and lifted the lid of the piano, playing a few runs to bring life back into his fingers. He began the introduction to her aria, and _this time_, he did not misplay her lead- in.


End file.
